The Fragrance of Dark Coffee
by Dead-Kenny-Dead
Summary: In which Kyle and Kenny muse of times past and listen to the rain. K2. Oneshot.


"Well. Long time no see."

"Times are rough. I can't always be around to sweep you off of your feet. I'm not built to be your Prince Charming."

"Well, you used to be. Then...I don't know. You fell apart."

"We fell apart."

"You mean you let us fall apart. There wasn't much of an effort on your part to make it work."

"You didn't seem too heartbroken."

"...maybe you just didn't learn to read me well enough."

"Or maybe you just never let me in enough in the first place."

And there's a long silence as I stare back at Kenny, his blue eyes piercing into mine with this sort of longing that's been there since the end of high school. And I don't know, maybe it's just because I have a weakness for fine-looking blondes, but it's like he's grown even more handsome in the last five years. He's got this dark-green polo with a black apron over it, name-tag jutting out his identity to whoever the fuck decides to come into this piss-hole diner at five in the morning.

The stare-down is ended with a sigh from my old flame, who begrudgingly brings me a cup of coffee and a menu. The early-morning shower starts up again, soothing the tense atmosphere between us in a way that only nature can. Tiredly I scan over for something that screams my name while wrapping my hand around the mug and lifting it to my lips. It's good.

Seeing as how I'm the only customer he's got, Kenny's in no real hurry to go anywhere. So for the moment he just stands there, waiter's pad in his hand as he waits for me to choose between bacon this or bacon that. Fuck, I can't eat bacon. He licks his teeth and I see it from the corner of my eye like a naughty little boy peeping on their sexy neighbor. "Ken," I say with a sigh and pushing the menu back to him in a motion of defeat, "You know what I like."

"Do I?"

Even now, we can't seem to get past the bitterness. It's like I never really left South Park. "...Just get me something without bacon."

"Sure thing," he says, even though his voice is dull and lifeless. He wants to escape this moment more than anything, he's screaming it in every step he takes back to the kitchen even though his mouth never moves. He's got this walk like a bird with clipped wings, and it's absolutely gorgeous in the morning light. The coffee is once again smooth against my tongue as I watch him. I watch him tap his pen against the counter, really standing there to avoid talking to me while under the guise of waiting for an order. Crafty thing, he is.

I wonder if anyone else comes to visit Kenny. I mean, we all come to visit our folks because they're the people that raised us and we owe them. While Kenny grew up with is, we just don't have the same obligation to stop by as much. And as horrible as it sounds, I don't think anyone really expected much more than that. We've all got lives and friends closer to our new homes in Denver, San Diego, Portland...poor Kenny just has South Park. Kenny's friends flew away without him.

He slides a plate in front of me with a quiet little scrape of porcelain against fake stone counter tops. It's eggs and hash-browns, with two strips of greasy, brown, bacon. Ironically enough, it's arranged where egg eyes stare up at me with hash-brown eyebrows seeming to wiggle cockily at me, bacon smile mocking me more. It's supposed to make me feel happy.

I don't feel that way.

"Kenny, what the hell?" The fight's out of my voice. I just want breakfast in peace but I can't seem to get it, now can I?

He slides into the opposite side of the booth, resting his elbows on the table and giving a shrug. "They're not for you," he simply states, removing half of breakfast-man's grin and nibbling on it with the same expression he had earlier. And that's this sort of frown, eyes just hinting their sadness but unable to lie. He's lonely, and any familiarity is welcome.

Even if that familiar face is the boyfriend who cheated on him.

"I'm not paying for your food," I grumble, poking at one of my eggs and finding it to be nice and runny, soaking a bit of the potato goodness in it. "You can get it free."

"I know. You're not paying for yours either."

"Kenny..."

"Look," he says as he breaks the end of the bacon off between well-worked fingertips, the steam from my coffee swirling around it and dancing like little spectral things, "I buy a meal for any friend that comes in. That's just the way I do it. You fed me enough in grade, middle, and high school. Let me at least pay back one meal."

"You shouldn't have do it because you feel like you owe me. Really. I'll pay."

And it's like I insulted him because I've worked a frown onto his face, contempt that I think he's still helpless and still poor and still the same kid he was back then. It's obvious he's not. For one, he actually looks healthy and not like a starving African baby. And for two, it looks like he's worked here for quite some time, seeing as how he's got his very own little tip jar next to the cash register. Hell, maybe he's really good at his job and he's earned it.

"...you're so stubborn."

And he's right, and I know it, and everyone who knows me knows it. I get it from my mother. I lick at my teeth and take another bite of the food. Just like the coffee, it's to die for. "If I gave into you, you wouldn't be where you are now."

He gives a sigh, crossing one arm over the other and tapping the bacon against the table. "True. But that doesn't matter. Your money's no good here."

"Bullshit," I mutter as I finish off my mug. Kenny's on it in an instant, leaving his seat and walking back over with the full pot of delicious regular coffee. I should tell Tweek about this stuff. He'd love it. I give somewhat of a smirk as he fills up my cup, because it's just the natural thing to do. "Thanks man."

He gives this little nod before sitting back down, taking another bite of stolen food. "I mean it. We're not taking your money today, Kyle. Not tomorrow, not ever. Not as long as I work here, I mean."

"I hope you're not planning on getting fired, then. Or quitting."

"Not in a million years."

And that's something you wouldn't have heard come from his lips five years ago. Hell, it was hard enough to get him to say "I love you," once in a while. It was hard to get him to do anything, really. It must be in McCormick blood to be stubborn though, if not about one thing then it's another, and then another, and it's a vicious cycle that can overtake their lives if they let it.

I eat around the bacon left on my plate like it's the plauge. "Fine. I'll pay you with something else."

"I'm not letting you wash dishes."

I chew over my options slowly, staring him down as...what's this? A smirk, albeit the tiniest hint of a hint of one, is there. He's challenging me, testing to see how far I'll go. Will I just cave in and accept, or will I stand my ground and push him back into the corner like so many yesterdays ago?

"...fine. At least tell me how I can repay you."

"You can't give me repayment for my repayment to you. It goes against all codes of...well, there's a code about it somewhere."

"Break out the book then."

"These codes aren't in books, they're common knowledge."

He steals away the last piece of bacon and tops off my mug with a little clink. He's got me, I'll admit it. "By these codes, you mean rules. Weren't you the one who always wanted to break them?"

"A certain Jew friend of mine wouldn't let me get away with it for too long."

"Oh?" I raise my eyebrow, letting my fork fall to my plate because I've eaten as much as I can. "What made you listen to him?"

"Because," he says with a bit of a shrug as his gaze goes out the window, "He was usually right."

And the rain just keeps falling like nothing happened, like we don't even really matter. In the large scale of things, we don't. I'm sure there's people out there who don't give a fuck about Kyle Broflovski or Kenny McCormick. And for a moment we're drawn away to that little world outside of everything we are. Outside there's a bird huddled up on the branch of the tree, trying its best to stay dry despite the downpour. I think all the birds are like that now. Huddled up and cursing the sky for hindering them to their feet. Unable to fly. Trapped.

They remind me so much of Kenny that it's not even funny.

"...well," I say, pushing my plate up and starting to stand. "I'm sure you'll be busy with customers here soon. I better head out."

And baby blues are back in action. "Are you saying that because you really believe that, or are you looking for an excuse to get out of here quicker?"

"I'm not looking for a fight or an argument. I'm done with my food."

"Don't you want to repay me?"

I have to turn on my heel for that. "Make up your mind, Ken. Am I paying you or are you buying or what?" My hand goes to my back pocket, halfway in when suddenly he's closer than I remember. His hand winds around like he's done this so many times before, stopping my hand and just letting his rest over mine. They're warm. They feel safe.

"I told you your money's no good, but there's something else that only you can give me that's just as good." His other hand rests on my hip,and casually I brush my free fingertips up his arm and rest my palm against his shoulder. He feels less like bone and more like a person now. It's strange to think that I'm touching Kenny when the sensation isn't as it was before.

I lick my lips free of coffee, blinking slowly a couple times and just watching the way he stares at me. He's anxious. Whatever this is relies heavily on my next actions, and if they're not exactly the ones he needs then this whole closeness is ruined forever. And that option flashes through my head to deny whatever he wants, grab my coat, and walk out that door for good and forget about stupid South Park with my stupid memories and my stupid flightless bird.

"Kenny, I don't love you anymore." I say it softly, because really any other way would be too harsh. I want him to understand that he's just going to get his hopes up if what I think he wants is really what he wants. Because then he'll expect more, and he'll wait for me in his apron by the door of this diner waiting for me to stop in and grab a mug and watch him work. That I could forget the new life I've built for myself and just stay here with him. It's a sad and selfish thing out of both of us. He just gives this knowing smile, and that loneliness shimmers in intensity with the white of his teeth.

"I know." It's kind of heartbreaking to see him just openly accept it without a second thought. Which can only mean he's thought of this before. He's thought of me in all this time I've been away; thought of me while probably sitting alone on his couch with only the blanket we used to share to remedy the loss of human companionship. Flattering and just a hint of underlying creepiness, but what do I know? He continues, looking down at the scuffed black shoes he wears every day. "And you don't have to love me. That's your right. But you can give me one last kiss, right? That's not too much?"

I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from just saying yes. Because he's just beautiful and vulnerable, making the best of what he has in a place that doesn't have much. I'm really proud of him, I am. Stan and Cartman probably would be too. But they didn't date him. They don't have that sort of bond that we'll have, even if it's a bond like a broken bone. I hurt him, he hurt me, and before we knew it we just couldn't work out. There was just too much scar tissue.

And so it's with a sad frown I push away from those lips, from that hold, from that familiar feeling of just being loved. Because that little part of me that wants him just isn't ready to have him yet. I just pat his shoulder, sliding out of his grip and watching his face fall. "I'm sorry."

"No, no," he says quickly, sliding his hands under the empty plate and picking up the mug. "No, you're fine, Kyle. It's a stupid thing to ask of you."

God, Kenny McCormick, the things you can do to a man. I want to run over there like it's an old movie, kiss him passionately against the wall without a care in the world if the cook sees or not. I hold firm, wrapping my jacket around me and readying my umbrella. "It wasn't stupid. I just can't do this anymore."

"Mmm." He stops, glancing at me as I head to the door with my collar popped to keep the rain from running down my back. "Did you enjoy the food?"

It was the best I've ever had. "It was alright. Could've been worse."

I don't want to go, and by the looks of it he doesn't want me to either. "...will you come by again? Maybe when I'm off? We can get coffee or something."

I turn and look him dead in the eye. If he's ever going to heal, it's not going to be me that helps him. As much as I want it to be. "I don't think that's going to happen."

We both hang our heads in shame, and I'm sure this little reunion's going to be our last. I haven't told him. I'm not going to be in Denver for long. Hell, I'm not even going to be in the United States for long. There's good work over in Ireland, good work I managed to snag hold of tight. I'm not about to tell him that either. It'll just be worse. I'd rather let him have hope that I'll come strolling through these glass doors on another whim someday than be an ocean away with no real way to visit.

"I guess I'll...well. I don't know. You take care, okay Kyle?"

I smile, waving lightly and opening the door before sticking out my umbrella. "Yeah. You too Kenny. Don't work yourself to death now."

"That's only happened once."

We both laugh, and now it's dangerous. Now it's too casual. We both break off before we can really get going. And the look he gives me just begs me to change my mind, and in all my being I want to.

The door closes behind me and I pull the umbrella over my head before I can get too soaked. It's a old walk back through memories now, but it's a walk I have to take alone.

I just hope one day, Kenny will be able to escape the rain and fly away.


End file.
